


Four times the polycule gets out of trouble and one time Genflou doesn't

by goatsongs



Category: Les Misérables (Movie 1952), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 4+1, ACAB, But he tried, Fauchelevent also does crime, Fluff and Humor, Gavroche obviously does crime, Genflou almost does crime, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Old Men Polycule, Robert does crime too, The polycule adopts the thenardier kids, Valjean Polycule, Valjean being happy, Valjean does crime, and Genflou is a terrible parent im so sorry, in case of any doubt, my portrayal of the police here was too kind, that's the most important thing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatsongs/pseuds/goatsongs
Summary: What it says on the tin:Four times the polycule get out of trouble and one time Genflou doesn't (he gets something else instead)
Relationships: Background Cosette/Eponine, Genflou/Original Male Character, Javert/Jean Valjean, Jean Valjean/Javert/Robert/Fauchelevent/Genflou, Père Fauchelevent/Jean Valjean, Robert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Four times the polycule gets out of trouble and one time Genflou doesn't

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to nonners.nonsense for beta-ing bless u <3 you can [find him here on Ao3](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Homebound_Stranger/pseuds/Homebound_Stranger)

  
1.  
  
Javert should not have agreed to this insanity, and he had known that very well, even as he had begrudgingly accepted. In his defence, a defence he was currently constructing within himself for his own moral sanity, Valjean would have attempted it whether Javert had agreed to accompany him or not, so, ironically, his hands were very much tied.  
  
He glanced around the corner to check if the coast was clear and nodded to Valjean, who was currently pushing an enormous metal bin from one side of the alley to the other, and making a frankly ridiculous ruckus.  
  
“Jean! You’re going to get us caught like that!” Javert hissed, though he knew what they were doing wasn’t going to be strictly illegal – he had checked. It would, however, be a painfully grey area, and terribly difficult to explain to the authorities. He was still weary of being found out, and Valjean was not helping.  
  
Valjean turned toward him with an amused smile and Javert had to actively work against one finding its way on his face as well. It was quite amusing to see a visibly old man wearing a Christmas hat push a bin that was about three times his size with an ease that still shocked Javert. He turned away. Valjean had to know that Javert thoroughly did not approve of what they were doing.  
  
Javert stood at the entrance of the back alley, standing tall with one hand holding his cane and the other pulling at his whiskers somewhat nervously. His imposing figure was easily the perfect diversion for Valjean, as nobody in their right minds would get close enough to Javert  
  
“I truly don’t know how you have survived doing illegal things for most of your life. This is hell.” Javert commented to pass the time, and make sure Valjean was still behind him as he stood as a lookout.  
  
“This isn’t illegal, Javert. You checked.” Valjean provided, not entirely helpfully.  
  
Javert harrumphed and suspiciously eyed an elderly woman as she crossed the street to avoid him. He pursed his lips and supposed that his countenance wasn’t the most welcoming to old ladies. Even when he had been police he had gotten used to perfectly innocent people avoiding his gaze and trying to put distance between him and themselves. It was excellent for his current purpose, though he still bristled at the idea of not being trustworthy.  
  
“People think I’m a criminal.”  
  
He heard Jean chuckle behind him. “How terrible that must be for you.”  
  
Javert turned to look at him, trying to convey that he was not enjoying the sarcasm. In truth, their past still managed to sketch a line of bitterness and guilt within him, one he feared would never truly disappear. It had been years since they had found each other, and Javert had come to terms with the monster he had been. Valjean would never word it in such a way, and was so forgiving it often felt like an over compensation to Javert, but they had found their pace slowly, and together. 

Valjean wasn’t looking at him however. He heaved a big bag over his shoulder and, with an agility that almost made Javert jealous– as he was so often plagued of aches and pains still remnant from his injuries from the fall– he climbed up onto the top of the bin and jumped to grab at the fire escape stairs that hung high above him. He pulled them down with a creak, and carefully lifted himself up, climbing toward the first metal landing.  
  
Javert, a reformed man though he was, decided it was best for him to look away while Valjean performed what may as well be a crime. He turned to find himself looking at a young frowning police officer walking toward him. From afar he could see the old woman he had spotted earlier, looking at him with an air of triumph.  
  
Javert frowned back angrily. He had prepared for this and many other eventualities. What would Valjean do without him?– he allowed himself to think.  
  
“Officer.” He bowed.  
  
“Sir. Everything alright around here?” The policeman approached him with the same air of confidence that Javert had had all those years ago, upon having obtained his position in the force, though this man seemed to possess a lot more swagger than a young Javert. 

“Everything is fine, officer. Fine day, is it not?” Javert gritted out. He knew himself to not be the best actor, but he still attempted a smile. The policeman’s eyes widened alarmingly. Javert quickly stopped smiling.  
  
“So, what are you… doing here, uh, sir?” The policeman asked, clearly taken aback by Javert’s appearance. Javert tried to hide his satisfaction, as his ears strained to catch any noises behind him. Valjean was as quiet as a mouse.  
  
“By God,” Javert scoffed, “can a man not take a walk around his own city on a nice day?”  
  
“Of course, sir, it is just,” The policeman turned to look, across the road, to the old lady who was still frowning at them, “I’ve been informed you have been standing here for the past twenty minutes.”  
  
“Is it illegal for a man to stand, now!” Javert exclaimed, and with the man now looking more alarmed, Javert decided to deploy his pre-prepared monologue.  
  
“Young man, I will have you know that I am a former member of the Paris Police force, Inspector, First Class, and I was injured on duty” –technically not a lie,– “And I should like to stand wherever I please, as I am perfectly free to do so.” Javert’s ears pricked up as he heard a metallic patter of feet behind him, which was presumably (and hopefully) Valjean, who had finished performing his folly and was counting on him to defuse any kind of trouble. He raised his voice.  
  
“I could recite to you the entirety of the French Penal Code, and I can assure you that nowhere is it forbidden for an old man to lean on his cane,” he lifted his cane slightly to demonstrate, “now, I commend you for your duty, but I would ask that you leave me be.”  
  
From behind him he heard footsteps getting closer to him.  
  
“If you will excuse me, I will be returning to my home with my husband.”  
  
The policeman stared at him, dumbfounded, as Valjean popped his head round Javert’s frame.  
  
“Sorry about my partner, officer, he gets a bit cranky in the winter.” Then he turned toward Javert. “Let’s go, dear, and leave the officer to do his duty.” He gently pulled Javert to his side and they walked away down the street.  
  
“Did you manage?” Javert asked through gritted teeth when they were out of earshot.  
  
“Yes, dear. They will love it.” Valjean said, and leaned up to place a kiss on Javert’s cheek. Javert softened at that.  
  
“Good. I need a calming hot drink after that.” His nerves still pulled frantically at him. “I hate lying.”  
  
“I know, love. A rest is well deserved, and I’m sure Robert will have some food ready when we get home. You have given me a wonderful gift today.” Valjean looped his arms under Javert’s and leaned closer to him. Javert could feel the happiness radiating from him. He smiled just a bit.  
  
If Eponine and Cosette had found a small note slipped into their window and a small Christmas tree assembled with presents on their windowsill the next morning, well, they might have jotted it down as a mystery. The problem was, they had strong suspicions about their benefactor’s identity. As stealthy and as unpredictable as Jean Valjean was, he couldn’t hide his good deeds from everyone, least of all his family.  
  
  


* * *

  
2\.   
  
Monsieur Fauchelevant had been sure of many things in his life. He had been sure, all those years ago, that the man who he had once known as Monsieur Madeleine, was a good man. He had also been sure about his decision to move out of the convent and enter a strange new world when the same man had asked him to move in with him– and his several other partners. Aside from the hilarious fact that Fauchelevant was becoming slightly forgetful in his old age, and sometimes could not, for the life of him, remember some of these men’s names, it was a pleasant life. He was comfortable, taken care of and loved, and most importantly, he did not have to work. He could rest his old bones and worry for nothing.  
  
One thing he was not sure of, however, was exactly how he had ended up with a bunch of twenty year olds in a clandestine meeting in an old, abandoned theatre. It definitely had something to do with Gavroche, who was currently helping one of said twenty year olds spray paint two large banners. One had the words “ _Our Art, Our Space_ ” written on it in bold red letters. The other, which Gavroche seemed particularly pleased with, read “ _Capitalist Pigs, Suck My Ass_ ”, a sentiment Fauchelevant found he couldn’t really align himself with directly, but he was glad Gavroche was learning to stand up for what he believed in. He smiled to himself.  
  
“Nice of you to always show up in support for your grandson, sir.” A hand clapped on his shoulder. Fauchelevant looked up to a tall young man, with a shock of thick blond hair against his dark skin. Fauchelevant smiled up at him.  
  
“Grandson, yes. I do suppose he calls me ‘gramps’” Fauchelevant chuckled.  
  
“Indeed.” The young man said. “It is great to see people of all ages join the resistance, nevertheless. I thank you.” He tended a hand to Fauchelevant. “I’m Enjolras.”  
  
“You can call me Fauchelevant. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise.” Enjolras said, yet his mind seemed already distracted by one of his friends calling him from across the room. He clapped Fauchelevant’s shoulder once more, with a little more force than Fauchelevant would have liked, and moved along.  
  
Fauchelevant stood near the wall, wishing he could sit down. 

“Hey! Fauch, my man!” A large man approached and offered his closed fist. Fauchelevant bumped it with his own fist, feeling awkward and cool at the same time. 

“Hello, my friend.” Fachelevant smiled widely at Bahorel. “What’s the occasion today?” 

“Feuilly and his theatre crew used to use this space for organising and storage– a lot of other local actors practice here– and the owner wants to kick ‘em out. Not happening under our watch, yeah, Fauch?” Bahorel nudged him with an elbow. Fauchelevant just smiled amiably.  
  
He spent the next hour being approached by several interesting characters, all of them barely adults, probably curious about such an old man with them, who were introducing themselves with names he was absolutely not going to remember at all. 

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for a commotion to happen, and after the banners had been hung at the entrance of the theatre, the police were readily called. With no regard for the peaceful strategies the group had taken in protest to the space being shut down, most of them were readily removed from the premises. Over the years, Fauchelevant had developed the ability to look both invisible and entirely in the right place in most situations. Usually he was assumed to be the janitor, the gardener and the porter, and it helped that he had been all of those things at one point or another. He waddled out of the theatre calmly and stationed himself by one of the police cars, subtly searching for Gavroche in the commotion.  
  
“Sir, I must ask you to stand back.” A policeman looked at him dismissively.  
  
Readily, Fauchelevant put on his best old man voice, which was sure to age him at least ten years.  
  
“Ah, excuse me young man, my grandson… He… You see I cannot find him, he ran ahead of me here you see, I am worried, well, you know how an old man gets, and you know– I have a cellular phone you know!” He rambled. “I just don’t understand how it works. Would you help me find my grandson, officer?”  
  
The police officer definitely seemed like he did not want to help him. Nevertheless he begrudgingly looked over to where some of the students had gathered outside of the theatre, and seemed to all be having a fairly heated discussion with one of the other officers. Fauchelevant watched as one of the older looking ones’ lips formed the words “perfectly legal”.  
  
From the entrance doors, another officer walked out dragging Gavroche by an arm.  
  
“There he is! My grandson, my poor boy, did you get lost?” He ran forward to greet Gavroche and pull him in an embrace. Gavroche, who had seemed mostly concentrated in shouting abuse at the policeman who had dragged him out, seemed briefly confused by Fauchelevant’s antics, but quickly understood.  
  
“Grampa! I was so confused, I thought this was the cinema!”  
  
Neither of the officers seemed to believe his claim, but when Gavroche took Fauchelevant’s arm and slowly guided him away from the site, they didn’t say anything.  
  
When they were finally out of ear shot, Gavroche let him go and instead punched him in the arm as they walked farther away.  
  
“Gramps! You’re so fucking cool, fucking with the pigs like that!” His smile spread ear to ear. 

“Who taught you to speak like that?” Fauchelevant asked, but he clearly seemed more amused than concerned.  
  
“Uh, like, lotsa people. Mostly Genflou though.” Gavroche shrugged. “Anyway can we go to the next meeting? Uh? Pl _eeeee_ ase?” He held his hands together in front of him, looking up at Fauchelevant, pouting.

Fauchelevant scratched his cheek in thought. “On two conditions.” He said.  
  
“Go for it.”  
  
“You never call the cops bad names in front of them. It’s dangerous.”  
  
Gavroche scratched his cheek as well, imitating him.  
  
“Mh… What if I know they can’t catch me?” He suggested.  
  
“You better be very careful.” Fauchelevant warned.  
  
“Okay. Done. What’s the second condition?” Gavroche ran ahead of him and waited with his hands on his hips, eagerness and mischief in equal measure on his freckled face.  
  
“You remind me of all of your friends’ names. I can’t remember a single one.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
3.  
  
As he took Valjean’s hand in his and they ran barefoot down to the entrance of the thermal baths, with Valjean holding his arm close and soft laughter escaping him every few steps, Robert found he could not regret any of the wild choices he had made throughout the last ten years of his life. Indeed, being on the run, aiding and abetting a criminal, changing his name, fleeing the northern town he thought he was going to live in for the rest of his years and raising a daughter who was not his own, had all been worth it. He would not admit this to anyone, not even Valjean and certainly not the court, but it had all been quite fun. He had liked the adrenaline, some of the time, and, in the privacy of his own fantasies, was thrilled by the idea of being an outlaw for love.  
  
Of course these were all foolish musings that had never managed their way out of his sleep, and his and Valjean’s years on the run had been so detrimental to his lover’s body and soul, that he could not help but hold the tiniest bit of resentment for the man who had made it a reality. Robert was a kind and rational fellow, but nobody could forgive like Valjean could. Robert could simply try. Besides, Javert had done everything in his power to help Valjean and himself get a pardon, which was the very reason why Valjean was laughing next to him, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  
  
Robert’s heart beat against his chest and loud in his ears. He was in love, utterly and completely. He looked down at their conjoined hands and Valjean’s wedding ring shon in the moonlight.  
  
It was night and the pool and thermal baths were closed behind a metal gate that Robert easily climbed over and offered his hand to help Valjean do the same. He noticed Valjean’s forehead pinched in worry as he jumped down and looked around. To wipe it away, he took Valjean’s face in his hand and kissed him, long and slow, relishing in Valjean untensing under his touch.  
  
“Jean.” he gasped when he pulled away. Valjean was looking at him, bright eyed and happy. Laughter bubbled up his throat as if it were threatening to burst out of him. Robert started unbuttoning Valjean’s shirt, and they struggled together as they tried to take each other’s clothes off.  
  
When they were both down to their underwear, Robert smiled widely and mischievously, and took his underwear off too. Before Valjean could react, Robert walked over to the pool and stepped in. 

Valjean laughed again, and Robert wished for the rest of their lives to be filled with his laughter.  
  
“What are you _doing_ ?” He asked, but he didn’t seem bothered. He stood, almost naked and beautiful against the white glow from the pool light.  
  
“Being spontaneous.” He said, and found that he was telling the truth. The spontaneity born from their past life had always been a necessity. Being on the run meant learning to act on your feet, always be ready for the next turn, the next escape, the next unknown.

Now it was all known. They’d been pardoned. They had married under Valjean’s name. They had no need to hide or run.

Valjean rolled his eyes, but quickly removed his own underwear and slipped in after him.  
They splashed at each other and laughed like children, but their games only drew them closer, and it was the most natural thing in the world. They kissed, feeling the water gently lapping against their skin. The tense lines of Valjean’s face were relaxed. Robert could barely believe their luck. 

Well, that is until they heard a shuffle, and a voice coming from the other side of the gate.  
  
“Who’s there?” A perplexed voice asked, and keys jangled as the owner of that voice tried to open the gate. 

Robert left Valjean’s side and moved toward the front of the pool, frowning. He quickly pulled himself up and went to retrieve their clothes. He knew he was going to have to explain their way out of this one. His greying hair could almost be counted as a pitying old man point, if he managed to sell it well enough. He turned back to hand Valjean his own clothes. He looked at the empty pool. He looked around the yard and toward the other thermal baths. He looked back to the gate. 

Valjean was nowhere to be seen.  
  
  


* * *

  
4.

Little did Robert know, Valjean was currently naked, hiding behind the hedges surrounding the pool area, the slightest bit amused if only it had any bearing on the cold fear of being caught that ran through him and freezed his blood.  
  
“I can explain.” He heard Robert tell the guard, and explain he did. Charming as the day they had first met, Robert managed to convince the guard that he had just felt like a midnight swim, by himself. The guard, in a tone that indicated that this would be a scolding if Robert hadn’t been at least double their age, recommended that Robert should only use the hotel services during the designated times. Robert gracefully agreed, joked and was led away by the young guard. Valjean, butt naked and dripping wet, pushed himself out of the hedge, feeling the rough leaves against his skin.  
  
Valjean had been on the run for most of his life. Getting from the pool to his hotel room while completely naked was a feat he would later say had been easy. Whether that had been true or not, he thought, it had all been worth it when he knocked on his room and Robert pulled him in, roaring with laughter once the door was closed firmly behind them. Without bothering to give him a towel or cover him up, Robert touched his face, ran his hands through his wet hair and kissed him all over.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
5\.   
  
Genflou was not a punctual man, and although arriving thirty minutes late to every event usually served him well, this seemed to not be one of those times. As he approached the entrance to the theatre, he saw the ticket man leaning against the side. The man was large enough to easily tower over him, he looked strong and healthy, and to Genflou’s estimation, he seemed to be about Javert’s age. Genflou squared his shoulders and brought himself to his full height, and approached. The man, who looked bored out of his mind and was staring at the opposite wall in what seemed like great concentration, barely served Genflou an offhand glance, and it took him a moment to realise that Genflou was trying to get past him toward the entrance.  
  
“Uh, Sir. May I help you?” His voice was low and suspicious as he stepped in his way to stop him, and Genflou bristled. This was a community theatre holding a play for parents to watch their primary-schoolers run around like idiots on stage, why on earth would they need a six foot tall bodyguard?  
  
“My daughter is in the play.” Genflou said.  
  
“The play started thirty-five minutes ago.” The man immediately responded, staring Genflou down, his lips pursed.  
  
“And I am late. Now let me in, lest my poor daughter be upset.” Genflou tried to keep as calm as possible, just as Valjean had advised him, but no amount of self control could stop heat rising to his face and his knuckles from becoming white at his sides.  
  
“I’m sorry but I was given clear instructions not to allow anyone in after the beginning of the show. You will have to wait outside.” The man said, still appearing bored but pulling himself up to his full height. He towered over Genflou easily, and Genflou, almost comically, had to lift his chin just to look at him.  
  
Growing more angry, Genflou growled– he would never admit it, but he was attempting to imitate Javert’s growl, which he knew very well could send most grown men crying to their mothers. “I had _problems_ with public transport, and it is not. My. Fault.” He said through gritted teeth, though his problems with public transport mostly entailed the bus driver respecting the designated city speed limits.  
  
The man, now more alert at Genflou’s signs of anger, scoffed. “You seem like one to cause problems on public transport.”  
  
With that, all of Genflou’s supposed control went flying. He grabbed the front of the man’s uniform and, with a strength indicative of his past, pulled him down so their faces were level. He made sure the man could feel his hot breath on his cheek.  
  
“Listen here, Michelin man. You’re right. I do look like I would cause trouble. I’ve been known to cause trouble. You know where I got these muscles? In _prison_ .” He said, uncaring of how close their faces were at this point.  
  
“And I’ll tell you. If you don’t let me in _THIS SECOND_ -” To his absolute surprise and pleasure, the man had the dignity to flinch at the sudden shout, “You will find I’m capable of a lot more.”  
  
The man looked at him with narrowed eyes, and silence stretched as they looked at each other like two cats hissing at each other and preparing for a fight. Then the man spoke in a low, rumbling voice that seemed to echo through Genflou with a shiver. “I was hired with orders to keep the peace here. If you think I will let you into a theatre full of children after you have threatened me with violence, you are very wrong. I have the police on speed-dial and I can assure you that if you don’t step away from me immediately, you’ll be back in a cell doing push-ups within the hour.”  
  
Genflou’s eyes flicked frantically about his opponent's face, as if looking for a hint that he wasn’t being entirely serious. He only found further confirmation, because he angrily pushed the man away and groaned loudly. Javert would give him the silent treatment for days and Valjean would wear the most infuriatingly sad expressions if he had to be forced to call them to bail him out. And Azelma… Oh, Azelma. He thought about her smile, the brightest of all the kids in her class, waving and excitedly clapping along with the audience when the show would end. If he were to get arrested, it would take all of the attention away from her, and she would frown at him disappointedly with her arms crossed, perfectly imitating Robert’s posture. He sighed. No, it was better if he calmed himself and bought her a bouquet of flowers to give to her at the end of the show. As a gift, and perhaps a small apology.  
  
He slumped his shoulders and leaned against the wall next to the entrance, watching the large man brush off his uniform with the same bored expression he had been wearing throughout their interaction. About five minutes passed in silence.  
  
“Oi. Name?” Genflou asked, jutting out his chin to indicate he was indeed speaking to the man who had just offered to have him arrested. It was a regular interaction in his daily life really. Genflou knew how well intimidation could work on most men, and bragging about prison usually got him a fairly long way. Usually.  
  
He should have imagined this was going to happen instead. Michelin man reminded him of Javert too much for that to have been a decent plan. He blamed his worry of disappointing his beautiful angel Azelma for weakening his usually impeccable strategy.  
  
“Maurice.” He answered suspiciously.  
  
“Genflou. Nice to meet you.” Genflou said, biting the inside of his mouth. He pulled out a cigarette from his coat pocket and offered the open box to Maurice, who frowned and took one slowly, watching Genflou like he was scared he was going to pull a surprise attack on him. Genflou watched as he placed the cigarette in his mouth, his pink lower lip curling in a pout, contrasted against his dark skin. Genflou sucked in a breath.  
  
“Can’t say the same for you, mate.” He said, with the cigarette dangling from his mouth, waiting for Genflou to pass him the lighter.

  
Genflou grinned. “When does your shift end?” He stepped forward and lit Maurice’s cigarette for him, cupping his hand to stop the wind.  
  
Maurice nodded in thanks and checked his watch.  
  
“Have a few more shows still… but, why? Want to meet in the back alley and fight?”  
  
Genflou startled at Maurice’s joking tone.  
  
“Something like that, yeah. But maybe catch a beer first?” Genflou tried, hoping this wouldn’t be yet another instance of him carelessly making unwanted advances on a homophobe that was about double his size.  
  
Maurice took another puff of his cigarette and pressed his lips together. “Are you seriously asking me out after having threatened me with violence to get into your daughter’s primary school musical show?”  
  
Genflou looked up with a challenge in his eyes. “I might be.”  
  
Maurice considered him. Not a homophobe then? Genflou mentally patted himself on the back. Even if he was refused, at least it would be without a(nother) broken nose.  
  
“You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”  
  
“Thanks. I get called worse usually.”  
  
They stayed in silence as Genflou quickly got through half of his cigarette, thinking the refusal had been subtle and quick enough for him to get out of the way without any more trouble, and he was almost grateful for it. He pushed himself off the wall, ready to leave.  
  
“I finish at five. Don’t be fucking late.”  
  
Genflou’s head snapped up in surprise. Maurice grinned widely, revealing a grin that almost put Javert’s to shame. His sharp canines made Genflou stare too much.  
  
“Well,” Genflou tried to hide how proud of himself he was, “see you then.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> that was very self indulgent so if u read through that thank u 
> 
> thanks to sewerchat for indulging and encouraging me and to my coupla sewerhomies who remain consistently interested in polycule content however dumb or stupid it is
> 
> [follow me on tumblr](https://italianjavert.tumblr.com/) and idk send me a prompt?


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